Destiel and Codas
by DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: A collection of drabbles and codas centering on TFW and Destiel. Warnings vary by chapter. PART NINE: 11x18 Coda. "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."-1 Corinthians 13:13
1. Aegri Somnia

Post Changing Channels. "So, you and Castiel, huh."

* * *

Gabriel catches him outside their motel room that night. Dean's on his second cigarette for the night, standing by the room door because Sam bitches at him if the car smells like smoke. But after the day they've had, Dean sure as hell deserves a cigarette.

"So," Gabriel says, popping his lollipop out of his mouth, "you and Castiel, huh."

Dean blows smoke in Gabriel's face. "What about me and Cas?"

"Nothing," Gabriel shrugs, putting his hands up defensively. "I just didn't take you for that kind of guy."

"I'm not gay," Dean spits.

"I didn't say you were. Besides, Castiel's not really a guy, so even if you were, it still wouldn't matter."

"What the hell do you want?"

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "You really don't know?"

Dean stares at Gabriel for a moment before laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Dean mocks, "I just didn't take you for that kind of guy."

"What kind of guy?"

"A guy who gives a shit."

"I thought you of all people would understand my standing, Dean."

"Yeah, no," Dean tosses his cigarette to the ground and stomps it out. "Cas says you ditched eons ago; left him and all the other bird brains alone with Michael who was in his emo corner crying about Daddy never coming back. We are not alike. I'd never leave my family."

Gabriel's eyes narrow. "I love my brothers, Dean."

"Really? You have a funny way of showing it. What did you do to Cas anyway? He fucked off the soonest he could."

Gabriel's teeth grind together. "I was trying to teach Castiel a lesson. Show him what will happen if he continues down the path he is currently on. Castiel is a soldier first and only."

Dean scoffs. "So, what, you stuck him in Dear John to show him that love sucks?"

Gabriel's teeth grind harder. Dean blanches.

"Oh my god," he says, angry. "You stuck Cas in Dear John! What kind of asshole are you?"

"One who's not afraid to tell him the truth! C'mon, Deano. It was the perfect choice. Soldier meets girl, he thinks he's in love, he fights for the girl and gives up everything he has and has ever known and what happens? Bitch leaves him first chance she gets."

"I'd never do that to Cas."

"You're either totally deluded or stupider than I thought. I know that you're a hit it and quit it kind of guy, Dean. Excuse me for not wanting my baby brother's name to just be another bullet point in your sex journal."

"I would never do that to Cas."

"Why not? You've done it to every other bitch you've screwed."

"Cas is different."

Gabriel's shoulders sag and he huffs. "Yeah," Gabriel says, licking his lips. "He is. He shouldn't be, but he is. And if you hurt him, you won't have to worry about Zachariah or Lucifer or Michael, because I'll be the one to end you."

Dean looks Gabriel up from head to toe. "Duly noted."

Gabriel leaves, the sound of flapping feathers roaring in Dean's ears for a brief moment. Then it's silent.

Dean lights up his third cigarette.


	2. Long Way Till Morning

Summary: NOTE: Work contains spoilers for episode 10.22 "The Prisoner". Sam returns to the bunker. There are three dead bodies, a nearly dead Castiel, and no Dean anywhere.

* * *

The bunker was trashed.

Books were thrown everywhere. The stench of gasoline and gunpowder permeated the air, making Sam's nose cringe in disgust. Bloody footsteps were left on the stairs and as he descended, Sam pulled his gun and flicked off the safety.

"Dean?" he called, walking down slowly, craning his neck to see around all the corners. When he got to foyer, he had a clear view into the library. He stepped over a dead body that lay on the steps, knife still sticking out of its back. Sam swallowed his disgust. There was so much blood, everywhere…

"Dean!" he said, louder. Two more bodies, one a kid. He couldn't have been older than Kevin was.

Sam's eyes pricked with hot tears and he holstered his gun back on his hip. Oh god, what had Dean done, what had he done? Dean had killed…

Sam heard movement to his right and his head snapped that direction.

"Cas!" Sam ran by Castiel's side in seconds and dropped to his knees. He had to cover his mouth with his hand to smother the horrid sound that threatened to crawl out.

He'd seen Castiel beat up and bloodied dozens of times, but this…It had never been this bad.

He was completely battered. His arm was bent at an obviously broken angle and if his crackling breathing was any indication, he had broken ribs too. He was bathed in blood; it pooled from his head, nose, mouth. His lips were so swollen he couldn't hold it in and it drooled down his chin and neck. And then there was the angel blade, sticking straight out in the stack of books just inches from Cas's head.

"Cas?" Sam said tentatively. He reached out and gently touched Castiel on his shoulder.

Castiel jerked away violently, moaned, "Dean, no," and Sam couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They raced freely down his face and the sob broke past his lips.

"Shh, Cas, it's me, it's Sam," he babbled, eyeing the dilute blue light that was starting to glow from Castiel's wounds. Sam only felt a small relief with this knowledge; he was still drowning in the knowledge that it was Dean who had done this to Castiel. Dean had beaten Cas worse than the angels or demons had ever done.

Castiel opened one eye slowly-the other was swollen shut. "Sam," he said, breathless and crying. He grabbed onto Sam's sleeve with his unbroken arm and tried to pull himself up.

"Hold on," Sam said and he helped Castiel into a semi sitting position though he leaned heavily into Sam.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Castiel said, tears adding to the mix of blood. "He's-Dean's gone, I couldn't stop him, I'm so sorry Sam."

"It's okay," Sam said quickly. "This is not your fault Cas, you did nothing wrong."

It was his fault. All of this had been his fault. Dean was right, he had been fine until he needed a reason to kill. Charlie's death was Sam's fault one hundred percent.

Sam looked back at the angel blade, sticking completely vertical.

And if Cas had died, it would've been his fault too. Cas alive, but beaten like a battered wife, was his fault. If he hadn't pushed when there was no reason...if he had left well enough alone….

"He killed that boy, Sam."

And Sam pulled Castiel close to his chest and wrapped his arms around the back of his head. The boy that had to have been Kevin's age. Dean killed a boy in cold blood; beat Cas an inch within his life.

And it was all Sam's fault.

In all honesty, he never thought that Dean would hurt them, him or Cas, no matter how far off the reservation he went. He knew the legacy Cain laid out. But since when did the Winchesters follow destiny? He brushed it off, the same way he always did when some big bad guy told Dean he needed to kill Sam. He knew in his heart that Dean would never, could never, kill him.

But then he remembered what Dean said to him. How it should've been him on that pyre instead of Charlie. How he said it with such venom and vehemence, how he meant it.

If he had just burnt that fucking book when he had the chance….

"Are you okay?" he said quietly, unable to trust his voice not to crack.

He felt Castiel tense. "My grace," he said into Sam's chest, "is not...up to the strength it was before Metatron took it. I will heal. But, I'm afraid…"

"It's okay, Cas," Sam said. "How long do you think?"

Castiel shrugged. "A day? Maybe two."

"That's okay. You can lay low in one of the spare bedrooms, till you're all mojoed up again. I'll," his voice catches, "I'll take care of the bodies."

The kid, he can't help but think.

"I do not think Dean will be returning home."

"Well," Sam huffed, "then I guess we'll have to bring him home ourselves."

He hadn't killed Crowley, but he would get the cure from Rowena. After how far they've come, all the prices they paid (all the prices they almost paid), there was no turning back now.

They would cure Dean.

They had to.


	3. Trapped in This Eternal Night

AN: Technically a companion to "Long Way Till Morning" all though it's not necessary to read that first. A 10.22 Coda, 10.23 speculation.

Summary: "This makes you like Dad." The reflection clicks his teeth. "No, you're worse than Dad. Dad _never_ hit Mom.

-0-0-0-0-

There's still blood underneath his fingernails, even though he's been scrubbing for hours. His knuckles are red and swollen and over the running water and the pumping of blood in his ears, he can still hear the crack of bones breaking underneath those knuckles.

Dean splashes water on his face and when he looks up into the mirror, it's not his reflection he sees, but Cas's. Cas, bathed in blood, with broken bones that jut out all odd, painful angles. It flashes for a second and then it's gone, leaving behind his reflection—except…

It has black eyes and a wicked grin.

"It felt so good, didn't it?" the reflection asks, tilting his head. "Beating Angelface black and blue, hearing him begging you to stop."

"Shut up," Dean says through clenched teeth.

"You know what's even better though. Angelface may be all juiced up but he still can't flap away anymore. And we didn't exactly leave him in any condition to brush himself up and walk away. You know what that means."

The reflection steps outside the mirror and stands in front of Dean. Its breath reeks of sulfur.

"That means Sam's going to find him. He's going to find Cas beaten like a dog, and the bodies and the kid. He's going to finally realize what we're capable of, see what Hell did to us." The reflection touches Dean's shoulder. It burns, but he can't pull away.

Dean's eyes flash back to the mirror and Cas is back, only this time he's beaten worse. Bruises and blood take up more surface area than skin and hair.

"This makes you like Dad." The reflection clicks his teeth. "No, you're worse than Dad. Dad _never_ hit Mom."

"It's not like Cas hasn't ever beaten the living shit out of me before." It's a weak argument.

"Has he? The crypt thing, well, we all know that wasn't Cas. Sure, it was Angelface's face and his fists, but he was just a puppet then, being controlled by that bitch angel, remember? And I guess there was that scuffle in the alleyway before the big ole showdown, but really, you know you deserved that. You were going to say yes to Michael, after Cas gave up everything—gave up Heaven and all his dick angel friends-so you could continue to say no.

"So, okay. Cas beat the shit out of you once, years ago, when you deserved it. But what did he do to deserve what you did to him? He talked to you. He touched you and you broke his arm. And his ribs. And his face. He didn't even try to fight back. He let us beat him like that, so he wouldn't hurt us. Precious, ain't it? And it would've been so easy to bury that blade in his gut and walk away."

"No," Dean moans. His hands are shaking and he can't stop.

"Maybe you did."

"I didn't," Dean says in a pained breath. He clamps his eyes shut. "I stopped."

"Did you? Where's Angelface's blade then? You don't have it because you left it in his heart."

"I didn't kill Cas."

"But you wanted to."

"I didn't _want_ to."

It was like he had to. If he didn't kill Cas, he would go mad. And Dean knows how close he was to killing his only friend in the world. He closes his eyes and he sees the fear in Cas's.

Cas thought Dean was going to kill him.

 _Next time I won't miss!_

Cas thought Dean would still kill him.

He can still feel the sting of his dad's fists against his cheek, still hears his mother and father's fights from underneath his covers.

"I'm not like Dad," he says.

"We've already established that. You're worse. Cas is never gonna let you touch him again. That might make the whole whatever you two have even more complicated, won't it?

"Or maybe," the reflections says in a high pitched whine, "maybe Cas will let you touch him again. Maybe he'll forgive you, find a way to turn the blame onto himself, you know Cas. He's a real Winchester at heart. Maybe he'll let you explore him in all the ways you want and forget the whole thing ever happened. But you'll still know what you're capable of doing to him. And you'll know he won't fight back, won't defend himself, because he doesn't want to hurt you.

"Which future is worse, Dean?"

"Shut up!" Dean shouts and punches the reflection, but it vanishes like smoke and his fist collides with the mirror, and he still sees Cas inside the mirror and Dean's hit him _again._ The mirror shatters and his fist comes away bloody—his blood this time-and he falls to the floor beside the bathtub and he doesn't even try to stop the tears that come.


	4. Sins of the Father

Summary: It's a Father's Day when Dean realizes there are worse parents than John Winchester.

AN: I like to think this exists in a vacuum of space around s8, except without Naomi, but you can decide that for yourself. Trigger warning for self harm but it's not graphic nor detailed.

888888

"Is he _still_ out there?" Sam asked. Dean instinctively snapped the blinds shut, catching his fingers, and he could feel Sam's stare burning into his back.

"Yeah," Dean said, licking his lips. He turned to face Sam and began scratching his ear because he couldn't look Sam in the eye. He didn't need to see Sam to know what his face looked like. "You know, maybe you should go out and talk to him."

Sam gawked at him, eyebrows raised and with the audacity to look offended. "You want me to talk to him?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, you're better at the whole," he made a noncommittal gesture with his hand, "than I am."

"Yeah, that last sentence kind of proves it, doesn't it?"

"Just go talk to him, please?"

"I think he'd rather talk to you Dean. You're the bad influence who taught him the whole macho men don't do 'chick flick moments'."

"But I don't know how to talk about the whole…God thing."

"I'm sure Cas would at least appreciate the effort. Seriously, Dean, talk to him now, you're driving a rut in the carpet with your pacing." Sam waved him off and returned his attention to his laptop, presumably to get back to research on the case they were supposed to be on, before the date had gained their attention and drew them all into a sense of stale melancholy.

Dean sighed, then forced himself to nut up. Cas needed him and Dean had to at least try. He exited their tiny motel room and walked the twenty steps to where Cas was sitting on the pavement. Dean's stomach churned at the circle of black, bloodied feathers that lay near Cas and he didn't want to think about where they came from.

He sat down next to Cas and they sat quietly for several moments. After a while of silence, Dean looked at Cas, who was staring up at the sky, a whirlwind of emotions brewing in his eyes.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Fine," Cas mumbled absent minded. Dean winched; he was a bad influence, wasn't he?

"You know, it's okay if you're not. You can be not okay."

Swallowing his last ounce of pride, Dean scooted closer to Cas and pulled his knees to his chest. "C'mon, man. Talk to me."

Cas sighed and looked down at the ground. He played with the feathers. "What do people normally do on this day, Dean?"

"Like, how do they celebrate?" Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Dude, we barely celebrated Christmas, you think my dad cared enough about Father's Day?"

Cas didn't respond and Dean bit his lip.

"I guess normal people…go out to dinner. Or, they grill out at home. They go out to a bar. I guess they just enjoy everyone's presence. But, I wouldn't know. Dad wasn't big on celebrating much of anything, except a successful hunt."

Cas was quiet for another moment, before he turned to face Dean. "You were right earlier, Dean, when you said that God didn't care."

Dean's face grew red with shame. "I never said that."

"Your exact words were, 'He does not give a rat's ass'."

And, okay, so maybe Dean had said that. But that had been years ago.

Dean voiced those thoughts. "You know, times goes on and perspectives change. He has to care at least a little, don'tcha think? I mean, he clearly has some interest in keeping you alive."

"My repeated resurrection is punishment for my egregious transgressions, nothing more."

"You don't really think that, do you?"

A shadow of a smile pulled at the corners of Cas's mouth. But it wasn't a real smile. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen Cas really smile. Dean was reminded of the future Zachariah showed him and the smile that Cas had given him when he was high. It almost matches the smile now; hollow, self-deprecating, masochistic. Cas's shoulders twitched, his fingers curled and Dean looked down again at the bloody feathers.

Cas wasn't going to answer. Which meant Dean had to fill the silence that floated around them.

Fuck.

"Because," Dean said, scooting so close to Cas now their shoulders touched, "because, I mean, I'm a wreck without you, man. In Purgatory, I thought you were still, y'know, a few bases short of a home run," and he ignored the confused scowl Cas gave him in response, "and I was going crazy myself looking for you. And the whole year before that—"

He actually didn't remember much of that year. It had been horrible, awful, gut wrenchingly painful, and he spent nearly all his waking hours drunk while he carried around a blackened trench coat from trunk to trunk of stolen cars.

"So," Dean coughed, "I know you miss Heaven and your dickbag family and I know that they're not really pleased with the whole coming back thing, but I am. And Sam is. And, we're your family now, anyway."

Cas shook his head. "I don't deserve to be called your family, Dean. The atrocities I have committed—"

"Okay, that's enough of that," Dean snapped. "You fucked up, okay? But, that's like a Winchester requirement. Sam fucked up when he killed Lilith. I fucked up when I sold my soul instead of letting Sam die. You can't let your mistakes define you. You made a bad choice. You're not a bad person."

"People died because of me."

"People die cause of me and Sam every day."

And then Dean had his arm slung around Cas's shoulder and he pulled him in close, let Cas rest his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean was aware that any of the other motel guests could come out at any moment and see them and they were in Mississippi and he could just imagine the looks and slurs they'd get thrown at them, but Dean couldn't find it in him to care.

"Dean," Cas said quietly. Dean hated the way Cas said his name, like a prayer, with such reverence. "I understand that your father's methods of raising you and Sam were unconventional."

Dean snorted. Of all the words that Cas could've used, Dean wouldn't put "unconventional" in the top ten.

"But," Cas continued, "your father loved you. He sold his soul for you. And I've never even seen my own—"

"Well," Dean interrupted, "that's his loss now, ain't it? You've made it this far without him and far as I'm concerned, you're better off that way."

Cas sighed into his neck and Dean picked up one of the feathers, let it sparkle in the moonlight. The minute bits of blood stained onto the root sparkled too.

"You wanna explain what these are?"

"Offerings," Cas murmured. "But Father doesn't want them." Then Cas moved his face to stare at the feather in Dean's hand. "I hate them," his hissed in abhorrence. The venom was layers deep, the anger boiling over and it took Dean by surprise. Cas's gaze was locked onto the feather and Dean wasn't quite convinced that Cas wouldn't make it burst into flames with that look.

And Dean could feel the spasm in Cas's back this time.

"Your wings?" Dean asked. "'Cause they hurt?"

"They're ugly and I _hate_ them. And God hates them too."

"Why?"

Cas reached forward and took the feather from Dean, twirling it between his fingers. "Lucifer has black wings too. But they weren't always black. Zachariah said—"

"I don't think you should give any mind to anything Zach said."

"Zachariah _said,"_ Cas continued, "that Lucifer's wings used to be a brilliant diamond color. He said that Lucifer's wings could been seen shining on Earth even from Heaven and that anyone in the presence of them were consumed by awe. He was the most beautiful of all of us, Dean, and Father loved him most because of it. But then he turned Lilith into a demon and he turned his back on God. His wings decayed and turned black before Michael threw him into the Cage, but everyone—everyone who was there, at least—had seen them. Had seen them change overnight from something beautiful to something horrid."

Cas rubbed his thumb against the feather.

"And they've seen my wings too," he added.

Dean bit his lip. "I know I can't see them without my brain melting out my ears, but Cas, they're not ugly. And God doesn't hate you, but if he did, it wouldn't be because your wings are black; but that doesn't matter because God doesn't hate you, Cas, he can't."

"And what makes you so sure, Dean?"

"Because, that's like, God's thing, ain't it? Love thy neighbor, don't be a dick. Hey, you're supposed to know this stuff better than I do, you're the angel."

"A poor example of one."

"All right," Dean said, "enough of the woe is me crap, okay? It doesn't suit you. Heaven doesn't want you, that's their mistake, you're kickass. And, if they're not gonna talk to you just cause your wings are black, then they're bigger morons than I thought. Your home isn't a place a Cas, it's the people you're with. People who care about you and want you with them."

"Oh," is all Cas said in response. After a moment, he added, "I wasn't sure you would want me around, after my mistakes."

"Like I said, I keep Sam around. And I've fucked up more than anybody and he still keeps me around. You're family, you don't get an easy out."

Dean picked up another stray feather from the ground and held it close to Cas's face. He made sure that Cas was watching it. "But this shit has to stop, okay? I don't want you doing this kind of stuff. You're hurting, I get that, but you can't do this. You gotta talk. To either me or Sam." But mostly to me, Dean added mentally. "So, here on out, no more, got it?"

"Okay," Cas agreed softly.

Dean rubbed at his back for a few minutes. "You wanna go back inside now? I don't know about you but my ass is numb."

"Okay."

"Y'know, you should be this agreeable all the time. It's sexy."

Dean laughed at the stink eye Cas threw at him as he helped him to his feet.

"Actually," Dean said, swallowing. "Why don't you head back inside? There's something I need to do real fast. Give me a minute?"

Cas eyed him for a moment, serious and stone faced as usual. He nodded, and then pointed to the feathers on the ground. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, "you might want to collect those. Angel feathers can be useful in many spells."

Dean knew Cas was giving him an excuse to spend extra time outside, otherwise he just would've picked the feathers up himself. Dean appreciated it. "Got it. Now get in there before Sam calls an Amber alert."

Dean waited until Cas was safely inside before he crouched down and began pick up the feathers. No way in Hell was he going to let some demon or witch get the chance to get their hands on them, to be able to use them against Cas. As he committed that chore, he spoke. "You're a dick," he said, unable to hold back his contempt. "And I don't know what game you're playing, but it's cruel. You're really just gonna keep hitting his reset button without ever talking to him? You're really just gonna let him go on thinking that living is his punishment? If you had just shown your ugly mug when he needed it, he wouldn't have had to make those choices. Hell, maybe he'd even be happy for once. Is that too much for me to ask for?"

Dean bit back the tears that burned at his eyes. "I just want him to be happy, but I don't think he'll ever be happy if he doesn't get to meet you. And it's fucked up because, I don't want him meeting you. He thinks he doesn't deserve to meet you, but the truth is that _you_ don't deserve to meet _him._ If you ever grow the balls to face up to your mistakes, you better not do it with me anywhere near, I don't care if you are God I'll pop a cap in your ass quicker than you can say "Hallelujah"."

Dean collected the last of the feathers and hastily threw them in the warded box he kept in the trunk of the Impala. He slammed the lid shut and then made his way back to the motel way. He paused outside the door long enough to stick out his middle finger and cry out, "Au revoir, dick," and then he entered the room.

Dean didn't see the figure that stood in the dark brush that surrounded the motel. He didn't see the despondent look in the figure's eyes as He stared at the door, at the thirty steps that separated Him from His wounded child. The figure couldn't find the strength in all the Universe, in all of Creation, to tread those thirty steps because Dean was right. He didn't deserve. And some mistakes couldn't be made up for all the penance in the world. Abandoning his wounded, frightened children, leaving them to their own devices with zero direction or comfort, was one of those.

Dean would call him a coward and he would be right.

With a sigh and a manipulation of the world He created, He left the motel parking lot and cast himself away to a secluded part of the Universe, where He could be alone.

He comforted Himself with the thought that at least Castiel wasn't so lonely anymore, not now that he knew he had the support of the Winchesters once more.

And when He thought of Castiel with Dean Winchester, He found solace that at least He had done one thing right.


	5. Price We Pay

_AN: Post 10.18, but before 10.19_

The windows and doors were heavily salted, the walls properly warded, and all the weapons were loaded and cocked, placed strategically around the room. Now, there was nothing else they could do but wait and watch, and hope for the best.

Dean rubbed at his arm and clenched his teeth together. The Mark was blood-hungry, calling for revenge, for violence, with the desire to protect his family.

Dean didn't know if Cas needed to breath; but seeing his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm made him feel better anyway. He pulled the chair from the window table towards the bed and sat down on it, leaning forward. He couldn't stop rubbing the Mark, though. It itched and it burned and if Dean didn't kill something soon, he would actually go insane.

Starting with the demons that had shanked Cas seemed like a good idea. The wound was doing okay, actually. It had been bad, probably struck a kidney and Cas had bleed all over the backseat and floorboards of the car; but Dean could see the soft blue glow and that meant it was healing. Cas would be okay. He'd heal up and he'd be okay and it'd be business as usual, just like anytime one of them had a near death experience. (Or an actual death experience, come to think of it…)

But every time Dean closed his eyes, he saw it. He saw Cas standing erect, with glowing eyes, and lightening flashing out of nowhere. Dean saw the two large shadows fold out behind Cas and remembered another instance in a storm years ago when he first saw them.

They were nothing like Dean remembered them. They were ruined, skeletal and decayed. Rotted. Only the thinnest of feathers still hung onto the bone, and even then, Dean knew he saw at least two fall out to the floor before the demons had smoked out like the cowards they were.

The wings that had once been fierce, all powerful, and…angelic, were ruined and rotted and it was all Dean's fault.

"Dean," Sam said. Dean looked up at saw that his brother was on the other side of the bed, giving him a _look._ "You should go to bed. He'll be okay; he's healing."

Dean swallowed and clawed into the Mark. "Why didn't he tell us?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know. I mean…Cas has never really been concerned about himself."

 _Yeah,_ Dean thought bitterly. _Too busy worrying about me to look after himself for two goodamned seconds._

"Stupid son of a bitch," Dean mumbled. "We should've been helping him, Sam. Maybe if he got grace back earlier…"

Sam hesitated to answer. He licked his lips. "I don't think we could've gotten it back earlier. Getting Metatron out to ask him…"

Dean snorted and buried his face in his hands. "Yeah, whatever. Metadouche—or Heaven—wouldn't have helped even if they wanted to. I get it. Angels are dicks, Cas is sick, what else is new?"

"He's gonna be okay, Dean. He'll probably be awake by morning."

Logically, Dean knew Sam was right. The wound was bad, but Cas had had much worse in the past. Even now, Dean could see that all of the deep muscle had stitched itself back together and now the layers of the skin were working. That wouldn't take long at all. Years ago, the entire wound would've all been healed within just an hour or two. But ever since Cas had Fallen and got cut off from Heaven, that stuff didn't work like it used to. It lagged and healed in stages. Like, the wound would be finished soon, but then the actual grace had to work on repairing itself and that would take the rest of the night, probably.

"Go to bed," Sam said again.

"I'll be fine," Dean said. "Take first shift. You can sleep. I'll watch him."

"We can get a trundle bed sent up. We can both sleep. There's no reason to sleep in shifts. He's okay, Dean. He'll be fine."

"And mess up the salt lines?"

Sam exhaled and rubbed his face with his hands. "Oh my god," he said. "You're impossible. Fine. Have fun watching Mister Comatose."

Sam turned to the opposite bed and threw himself down, burying his face in the pillow before he reached over and turned the light off.

The cars on the adjacent highway flew by, casting lights into the room and across Dean's face.

There was a point where Dean wasn't sure how deeply asleep Cas actually was. His eyes were still closed, and he wouldn't respond to questions, but his fingers curled up in the sheets at his sides, and if Dean leaned in close enough, he could catch bits of murmuring. Dean recognized some Bible quotes, but most of what Cas was saying seemed to be coming from memories—and not any good ones.

"No, Naomi," Cas said, knuckles whitening into the sheets, "I _won't._ You can't _make_ me."

"Shh," Dean mumbled, but he couldn't make himself reach out to comfort. The Mark still burned, and he had his own voices in his head, screaming at him, taunting.

 _And then you'll kill the angel, Castiel._

Dean dug his nails into the meat of his arm. The Mark was hungry, he'd feed it; something had to be better than nothing, right? The Mark shouldn't care what it came from, as long as it got fed, it'd be happy, right?

But every few minutes, Dean would see it again, and his blood pressure would rise and the Mark would just ask for more, and more, and more.

The murmuring stopped suddenly and the room was eerily quiet, even with Sam snoring softly across the way.

Cas's eyes were open, and they were staring at him.

"Hey," Dean said, swallowing. "How're you feeling?"

Cas kept staring at him, dissecting him like he always seemed to do. "Fine," he said eventually. "How are you, Dean?"

"Just peachy."

"You're bleeding."

Dean looked down at his arm, where his nails were still embedded. It wasn't deep and he just wiped it on his jeans. Dean sighed and then he did lean forward, his face just inches away from Cas's.

"How come you didn't tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you were hurt. Your wings…we saw them when you got shanked."

"Oh. You saw. You…you weren't supposed to see."

"Well, I did," and Dean had to struggle to keep his voice low, to not scream and break things like he so desperately wanted to do. "How come you didn't tell?"

Cas turned his head to stare at the ceiling. "It was pointless to tell. There is nothing that can be done to fix them; their condition is permanent. Telling would have only created more tension. Besides. I have other priorities."

"Damn it, Cas!" Dean did scream that time, near full volume and with all the rage he can muster. Sam snorted into his pillow, but turned onto his other side before his breathing resumed its previous pattern.

Dean was seething, jaw clenched, blood pounding. Cas wasn't startled by his anger and Dean had to focus to breath in deeply and lower his voice.

"When are you going to start taking care of yourself?"

Cas looked down at his arm and Dean self-consciously covered the Mark with his hand.

"When I've finished taking care of you," Cas says.

"I'm not your responsibility."

"But you are. You've been my responsibility from the moment I first laid a hand on you in Hell. It's my duty and…desire to protect you. To see you are taken care of." Cas blinked; another care whizzed by on the highway, illuminating his eyes. "I'm sorry I haven't done a very good job of it."

"Free will, remember, Cas? I made my own choices."

"As did I. The state of my wings is no more your responsibility than the Mark is mine. But I will still do what I must to cure you and ensure your safety."

"Why won't you let me do the same for you?"

Cas smiled softly. But it was one of _those_ Castiel smiles. Self-deprecating, mourning, hated. "Because there is still hope for you."

There were so many things wrong with that statement. Cas was an angel, something holy and far off. Dean…Dean was closer to something demonic than anything else these days. There wasn't hope for him.

"Promise me," Dean said, "you'll stop. Stop looking for a cure. I don't want the cure. It isn't worth it, Cas. The price will be too high, you know it will. Promise me you'll stop."

"I can't. I won't. I won't ever give up on you, Dean."

And that was the problem, wasn't it?


	6. Last Goodbye

_MILD SPOILERS FOR S11 ep 1. I don't recommend reading this if you haven't seen it yet._

When Dean replays every conversation with Cas from the last several years, they always start out the same.

 _Hello, Dean._

And they always just ended, abruptly, when they had to. It always pissed Dean off, how Cas would just hang up or leave when the conversation was over, without ever saying the conversation was over. He thought Cas knew better than that.

But now he realizes…it was always better than the alternative.

Because Cas told him goodbye and he hung up, right as Dean was able to hear someone else in the background coming closer, as heard the realization in Cas's voice when Cas realized someone was behind him.

It takes everything in him not to cry. And he swears to find Cas as soon as he can, even if he has to scour all of Earth, even if it takes the rest of his life because it cannot end this way. Castiel's last words to him cannot be him saying goodbye, not when Dean still has to apologize for so much. Not when he has to thank Castiel for trying to keep Sammy in control.

And fuck, they last time they had seen each other…it wasn't even long ago, it had been two days ago, but Dean had beaten him and almost killed him, and still, Cas had demanded to know how _Dean_ was, demanded to know if the Mark was gone, and Dean felt the tension ease out of Castiel over the phone when Dean told him yes.

Dean didn't understand how Cas didn't know about the Darkness, but that didn't matter, not when Cas was hurt and MIA; not when he had told Dean goodbye after never saying it in all the time Dean's known him.

He sees Sam's worry and pity, and it angers him. In the far back, the deputy shushes the baby as she starts to fuss. That angers him.

 _Goodbye. It…it may be sometime before we see each other again._

Dean heard the silent 'if' hanging in the air, heavy and loud. Cas had meant to say _if_ we see each other again, Dean heard it, even if Cas didn't say it.

And that pissed him off.

Dean vowed, he was going to get the deputy and the baby to a safe location, and then he was going to find Cas and disembowel anyone who had laid their slimy hands on his angel, and then they were going to defeat the Darkness together, Team Free Will again.

He would find Cas and Cas would look at him in his Castiel way and he would say _Hello Dean_ , because that's what he did.

And Dean would make sure that Cas _never_ told him goodbye again.


	7. Finally Here

_Post 11x05._

Sam couldn't take the two of them anywhere. He'd been doing fine on his own questioning one of the local parishioners, while Dean and Cas were supposed to be interrogating the priest, but they'd been gone for over half an hour now. It shouldn't take that long. Dean was blunt with his questioning, and Cas was still awkward and mostly silent, and it was his first hunt with them since he'd been recovered enough from Rowena's curse; he'd been sickly and weak for so long, Dean barely let him out of his sight, still fussed over him despite Cas's annoyed protests. Dean especially got protective when other people got around Cas, because they couldn't know for sure who was involved with the Darkness, and how it would react with angels.

They'd been gone for over half an hour. They should've been back by now.

He thanked the parishioner for her time, even though nothing she said had been helpful in them solving the murder, or coming closer to finding Amara. They'd been following lead after lead of her soul binge, but always arrived too late, and then she suddenly attacked again hundreds of miles away. It was a game of cat and mouse, chasing her down.

But as Sam was walking down the hallways of the church, he spotted them. And he suppressed the urge to scream, because Cas's hair was sticking up in all directions, his tie was askew, and his face was flushed. It pained Sam to see it, because it was such a stark contrast to his still sickly complexion; he was still too pale, still hard those dark circles under his eyes. Really, he shouldn't be out hunting. He should still be back at the bunker, resting, reading; but he had already stayed behind for the last two hunts, and no amount of arguing or screaming would convince him to stay behind again.

Dean wasn't looking any better; his suit jacket was wrinkled and he had that shit eating grin Sam was all too familiar with. Dean looked over and caught sight of Sam, winking. Sam felt nauseous. Dean leaned in to whisper something in Cas's ear. Cas nodded and then walked off. Dean approached Sam.

"So," he began, "We got bupkiss on the priest. But, the uh, hot nun was eyeing Cas the entire time, so he's gonna see if he can wheedle anything out of her."

"Nuns are celibate, Dean."

"Yeah, but I'm not."

And then Dean did his eyebrow waggle.

And Sam wished could keel over and die in that moment. "Dude," he said, resisting the urge to throw up his entire stomach. And intestines.

"Listen Sammy," Dean still had that proud smile he wore whenever he thought he was getting away with something he otherwise would get in trouble for. "I just had sex—"

"Please shut up."

"—With an angel—"

"Dear God."

"-In a confessional." Dean blinked and licked his lips. "I might be going to Hell again."

"Dean! Don't you think that's a _little_ inappropriate? We're supposed to be working! And-and—Cas is still sick, he's supposed to be taking it easy—"

"Don't worry about that, Sammy. Cas doesn't have to lift a finger for—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" For dramatic effect (and to a bit of a bitch) Sam covered his ears with his hands and pressed hard until he was sure that Dean had stopped talking. Then he sighed and let the tension out of his shoulders.

"So," he coughed awkwardly. "It's official then? This isn't just a…physical thing?"

"No, Sam. I, uh…I think I found my something more."

"Good. I'm happy for you, Dean. Both of you. Really."

"Thanks Sam." Dean's smile eased into a more relaxed one.

"Never give me the details again."

"Right."

"And I don't want to hear it. Or know about it. Or be anywhere near it."

"Well, then you might wanna stay away from the backseat of the car for a while."

"What?"

"What?"

Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed. "C'mon. We have a job to do."


	8. Desinet Omnipotentis Ira

_Amara getting sick after she hurt Castiel was not a coincidence._

* * *

He thought himself a patient and forgiving deity. Certainly, compared to the Mayan gods that commanded for the hearts of their enemies, daily, He was tame. He thought himself loving, too; He loved His world and His creation so much that He released them, and allowed them to seek out their own truth and their own virtue.

It was a decision that had been painful, and He still reaped those woes to this day. When He closed His eyes and listened, He heard the crying prayers, His children pleading for His presence, His power. But He couldn't answer those pleas. He couldn't reveal Himself. To intervene would be to take away their free will, the single gift He gave them at their birth.

Castiel would look to the sky and beg. "Where are You?" Castiel would ask. "I'm not sure what I'm doing." As more time passed, Castiel grew more trepidatious. "I still have faith," he said once, years ago, but He still stayed hidden.

He never ignored those prayers. He listened to each and every one and held them dear to His heart. He didn't answer, but He never ignored, and that was all the difference, even if His children couldn't understand.

Then Castiel changed and he said instead, bitter and disappointed, "I wouldn't count on Him," and he no longer believed in Him.

It hurt, and cut deep, that the child He made with stardust and His breath would grow such a callus on his heart towards his father. Castiel didn't understand; He didn't intervene because He didn't care. He didn't intervene because He cared too much. Every _thing,_ every sentient creature had been designed by His hands, with a mind and spirit of their own, and they had free will.

But then He had a lapse in judgement. After eons of adhering to His imposed isolation, after eons of never once attempting to violate a creature's free will, and committing to being forgiving, He snapped.

Amara attacked Castiel. She called him fearful. She called him _weak._ She violated his flesh and grace and burned into his skin a message of her design. Castiel, who was light, and Amara, who was Darkness, and they intermingled in that one single moment, her Darkness's corrupting his light.

That was abominable.

Castiel was brave and strong, even if he didn't know it. Amara attacked him and he screamed as he was thrown into the ether, burning and in such pain.

He snapped. A snap of His fingers and Amara was on the ground, chocking and dizzy, burning tenfold what she had done to Castiel.

"Don't you ever touch my son again you wretched, depraved, little _bitch._ "


	9. My Heartbeat Is a Prayer

_AN: Whoop. I didn't mean to neglect this. I've just been forgetting to update on here, since I've become more active on AO3 as of late. I'll try to better, I promise!_

Summary:

 _And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love._

 _\- 1 Corinthians 13:13_

11x14 Coda:

Dean closes the door quietly behind him, and locks it. The tumblers softly click and fill the silence of his bedroom, but only for a brief moment and then he's drowning in it. It's crushing him, a heavy weight on his chest and his lungs are shuddering inside his ribcage, unable to hold onto his breaths.

The shudders migrate to his arms and jaw, causing the hairs to stand up straight; and then they go to his knees and he can't even hold his own weight anymore. He slides to the ground, back pressed against his door and he pulls his knees to his chest and buries his face in between them.

A sound rips out his throat. Subdued, agonized and raw. He wants to scream. He wants to throw things against the walls. He wants to stare at the bottom of a Jack Daniel's bottle, tipping the neck over to get out every last drop. But he can't do anything more than just sit there and shudder and sob.

He's not sure how long he stays there. Exhaustion seeps into his bones, but somehow he manages to crawl the three feet from the door to his bed. The covers are itchy, and the mattress swallows him whole. Dean pulls the covers over his head and tucks his knees up against his chest.

He counts his breathing. Then, "Castiel."

The word hangs heavy in the air. His mouth feels dry. He swallows deeply and licks his lips. "Castiel," he says again, this time with more conviction. "You got your ears on?"

He realizes, for the first time, that Lucifer might be able to hear too. Then he decides that he doesn't care. Lucifer's already touched and taken the most important things in Dean's life: first Sam, now Castiel. There's nothing Lucifer has to gain by listening in.

"I'm not mad at you," Dean says, because it's important. He's not. He's too tired to be mad; and he's spent so long being mad at Castiel, because if he was pissed at Castiel, he could ignore this _other_ nagging at the back of his mind and winding down his throat, wrapping around his heart. If he pushed the anger to the front, let the anger be what Castiel saw, let the anger be what Dean felt, he could ignore all of it. At his core, Dean knows he's a coward, and it's easier to be angry at Castiel than to be this _other._

But anger was poison. And not just to Dean, not just to Castiel. Dean's anger bled through to everyone around him and it affected them too.

He can't ignore this _other_ now, not when he's so worried. He just can't will the anger to come.

"I just want to know why."

Because Dean couldn't wrap his head around it. They were going to get out of the Cage. They went in knowing that Rowena was going to bust them out; went in knowing they were just needing to stall for time. Lucifer got in a few good hits on all of them, but Castiel wouldn't have said yes because of that. All of them had undergone torture—he wouldn't have caved because Lucifer had a good right hook.

Dean shivers. Even underneath his blanket, he's freezing. "Is this because of Amara? Because we'll find a way, Cas. We always find another way."

Sam told Dean something earlier that night, back out on the docks.

"Sam says…Sam says you told him that you wanted to be 'of service to the fight'. I don't know what that means, Cas, but you're not serving anybody by letting Satan wear you to the prom. 'Specially not yourself."

A throbbing pressure builds behind Dean's eyes and nose. Dean sniffs, but it does nothing, and then snot is running down and he rubs viciously at his nostrils, rubbing them red and raw with his blanket. He blinks and his eyes burn.

"So, kick him out already. You got through enough to talk to Sam. Do it again and just _push._ You can do it, Castiel, I know you can. You broke through Naomi, and the crazy wall. Sam beat him, you can too."

Castiel always came back to him. Sometimes took longer than others, but Castiel always came back. Not even death could even keep them apart. Not death, not Heaven, nor Hell—not even Dean could them apart.

 _You can't stay here_ Dean told him, in the one moment when Castiel needed him most. And he hadn't heard from Castiel in months after that, but then he did, and they crossed the boundaries they put on themselves.

If not even Dean's own insecurities could keep them apart, then the Devil had no chance.

"And _you,_ " Dean growls. "Listen to me. If you can hear me—if you hurt him—I'll kill you. I'll burn you alive. You're a fucking snake and I will end you. You thought the Cage was bad, just wait till I get my hands on you."

Forty years in Hell still boils underneath his skin, and Dean knows better than anyone how to paint with blood and ash, how to make agonized screams sound like music.

Warm tears race down Dean's face.

"I'll get you back, Cas, I promise, I promise."

Then it becomes his heartbeat.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , he thinks, focuses all towards Castiel. He's shaking too hard to say it out loud, but it's still as true as anything else he knows.

"We'll find another way to beat Amara, we don't need him, and—"

 _I love you, I love you, I love you._


End file.
